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About Kecskemet

So yeah, escorts—misunderstood souls, I reckon. Met one once, cheeky lass, said she’s “an artist of flesh.” Laughed my arse off—fair play, gal! Bit like Eve in the flick, y’know, cool, unbothered, sippin’ life. “The air’s thick with ghosts,” she’d say, countin’ cash. Dunno, makes me smirk—capitalism meets caveman lust. Ever tried it? Nah, me neither, but I’d chat ‘em up for stories. Wild ones spill tea better than grannies.

Next, I decide to grab some street food. I’m all about that lángos life. So I’m at this stall on Oktogon, and I order one. The guy behind the counter is like, “Extra garlic?” I’m like, “Heck yes!” I mean, who doesn’t love garlic? But then I take a bite, and it’s like a flavor explosion! I’m in heaven. But then, I look around, and everyone’s staring at me. I must have garlic breath for days. Oops.